


Civics for Billionaires

by volunteerfd



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Science Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 04:58:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volunteerfd/pseuds/volunteerfd
Summary: Bruce wants a day to himself, but Tony wants him to share. The first step is getting trapped on the subway together.





	Civics for Billionaires

It was hard to imagine Earth’s mightiest heroes taking New York City public transit, and for good reason: they didn’t. Mostly. Although Steve prefered walking, he still took the subway--you could take the boy out of Brooklyn, but. Thor, Clint, and Natasha preferred not to, and unless they had a compelling, professional, fate-of-the-world reason to, they wouldn’t. And then there was Tony. Tony Stark and the subway. It was unfathomable.

Bruce Banner was one of the only people who enjoyed breathing the stale air saturated with farts and booze and vomit and all other human secretions and assorted nastiness of the New York subway system. He liked to imagine what other sorts of people would inhale the metropolitan stench with relish: recently released convicts, wrongfully sentenced to life in jail, cleared through a miracle of DNA and intrepid researchers; small town kids making their first steps into the Big City, hearts still aflutter with big dreams and honeymoon lust. And him.

It was nice to remind himself that he could get jostled and delayed and verbally assaulted without destroying the New York City underground,  that people who shoved their way into the subway cars before others had the chance to deboard-- _dumbasses!_ \--would live to get off at their own stop, people who listened to music without headphones would remain unscathed--by Bruce and his alter ego, at least.

He could tuck himself against the subway door, shrink into his seat, and read. Like any other schlub.

The train slowed to a stop in the middle of the tunnel. Bruce knew what was about to happen next, and he knew that everyone else knew, too: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are delayed due to train traffic ahead of us. We should be moving momentarily.”

The passengers groaned in collective frustration. Bruce smiled into his book.

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” A voice said directly into his ear. Bruce visibly jumped.

He associated that jolt of electricity with Tony, who always snuck up and surprised him. At first, it put everyone on edge: Steve and Nat and Clint. The only person who didn’t mind the shocks and scares was Bruce himself--well, Bruce and Tony. It was a reminder, like being on the subway, that he was in control of himself.

In fact, what irritated Bruce was his teammates’ reactions. Although they directed their frustration at Tony (“Tony, are you nuts?” “Tony, leave him alone!”),  it was clear that they were afraid of Bruce. Worse, they didn’t have the courtesy to hide it. In his darkest moments, he wanted to make his feelings known, wanted to scream “Guys, I’m _human.”_ But he didn’t really believe it himself.

Eventually, the others realized that Bruce was not a danger, although it was probably only Steve who realized the emotional toll it took on Bruce himself. But it was Tony who, like the putrid stench of the subway, reminded Bruce that he could be trusted. That he could trust himself.

When he turned to the familiar voice, he saw a unibrowed man with 70’s throwback shaggy blonde hair, eyes obscured by cheap sunglasses.

“What’s with the Count Olaf disguise?” Bruce tried not to smile--Tony didn’t need more encouragement--but one ghosted his lips, small enough that Bruce could pretend that Tony didn’t notice it.

“I think that’s obvious.” Tony cocked his head towards the other straphangers, the celebrity-mad hoi polloi. As if they could register _Tony Stark_ riding the _subway_ in the same mental schema.

“Right. Imagine walking onto the subway and seeing TONY ST--”

Grinning widely, Tony clamped his hand over Bruce’s mouth (no matter how tolerant the others became of Bruce Banner the Person, they would never grab him like that, never touch him) before he could finish the rest of his sentence. Bruce pushed his hand away.

“Why are you riding the subway?” Tony asked.

“Because I live in Manhattan and have some place to be.”

“Uber. Lyft. Cab. Jetpack. Don’t use money as an excuse. I know you have it because you have me. So why the subway?”

“I like it.” It was true. He wouldn't get into details.

“No one likes riding the subway.”

“I wanted to have a day,” Bruce said.

“‘Have a day?’ What do you mean? Aren’t all days yours?”

“To myself,” Bruce clarified, and then added, “And no, they are not.” To Tony’s credit, there was a moment of silence where the significance of the last statement landed; just a moment, and then it passed.

“Am I ruining your day to yourself?” Tony asked, although he made no offer to leave.

Bruce checked his watch. “No, you don’t have that power. Hey, why are _you_ riding the subway? Have you ever, ever taken the subway before? Ever in your entire life?” If Steve asked that same question, there would be judgment in it, but Bruce was only amused and curious.

“Of course.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“So why are you following me?”

“What makes you think I’m following you?”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

“OK. Fine. I want to learn more about my buddy outside the sterile lab setting.”

“Your buddy,” Bruce said, plainly.

“You.”

“I got that.” Bruce resented Tony’s ability to get small smiles out of him, how often they happened, how quick the succession, how he had to muscle down the smiles because he didn’t want to encourage Tony, he wanted Tony to have to work harder for them, to have to work hard for something. Worse, it was getting easier and easier to imagine the day that he stopped hiding, and when that happened, there would be no stopping Tony: Tony would want the frequency to double, he’d want to transform smirking into beaming, he’d want...And Bruce wasn’t ready for that. “And you couldn’t just ask?”

“Of course. But I wouldn’t have gotten an honest response.”

“So you’re going to follow me…”

“To your destination.”

“And then you’re going to leave?”

Tony shrugged. “Depends where you’re going.” Again, no offer to leave. 

“What if I misdirect you?”

“You have an appointment. You’re a man of your word and you keep your appointments.”

Before Bruce could form the words “How the hell?” Tony raised his arm, showing off his much more expensive watch, and Bruce cursed silently.

“I was going to trail you all the way, but by the sound of things, we might not get there.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice began again. Tony moaned and banged his head against the window.

“You think I should Dagny Taggert this thing?”

“I would prefer if you were less of an Ayn Rand character, actually.”

“I’m _wounded_ , Bruce. I’m funnier than a Rand character. Wittier. Better developed. Hmm, the sex is roughly the same, though.” He winked. Bruce turned his head under the guise of checking the greater subway car area. “I wouldn’t change a thing about _you_."

Bruce slid his phone out of his pocket. Usually, there was just enough reception to make a call or send a quick text, which he needed to do because of the train delay. Conscious of the prying eyes next to him, he politely excused himself, took a couple of steps away, and fired off a quick apology/heads-up for his lateness. Then he returned his phone to his pocket, went back to his seat, and returned to his book.

"I can't believe you put up with this just to get to your book club."

"Not a book club."

"Dentist."

"Nope."

"Cooking lessons."

"I don't need cooking lessons," Bruce said, letting mock-offense seep into his voice.

"Basket-weaving! Archery! You're an adjunct professor at a community college! You teach yoga to hot moms in the East Village!"

"So close. I teach archery in the East Village," Bruce sighed, "to hot dads."

The train finally sputtered to life, but there was always a chance it would stop again.


End file.
